Laundry and Other Things
by shen summoner
Summary: Hermione Granger bumps into Theodore Nott at the laundromat everyday. Conversation is made, and underwear dropped. Muggle AU.


A/n - This is a Muggle AU fic.

All About You Challenge - Prompt : write a fic including the word 'cherry'.

Laundry and Other Things

I

The overhanging bells chimed in the quiet winter air, at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, as Hermione Granger sullenly pushed open the door to the communal laundromat in her apartment complex.

She dragged her feet toward the washer kept at the farthest end of the room. It was always the cleanest machine, as people generally used the ones kept up front.

As she pulled open the door of her machine and started stuffing her clothes in, colour by colour, she almost didn't notice that the bells chimed again. It was only when a pair of feet had lazily shuffled to right beside where she was kneeling, that she realised she wasn't alone.

For months, now, she had been the only resident of Daffodil Gardens to wake up at six in the morning and do her laundry. She simply got no time after. Her boring job at the bank started at nine a.m., and by the time she got back, she was always far too knackered to muster up the stamina to carry a basket-full of her dirty clothes to the laundromat. So, six a.m. was the only time she could actually spare.

But now. She glanced sideways to look at who had joined her during the peaceful task of solitary laundry. It was Nott. He lived in the only duplex flat in the building, one that was rumoured to be as grandly furnished as some mayor's home.

T. Nott (she didn't know his first name, just his initial from his letterbox), was a man in his late twenties, she presumed, and he was arrogant as hell. He never would say a word to any of the neighbours, or participate in any activity related to their complex. He was tall, with dark brown, almost wavering on black hair, and chocolate brown eyes, very many shades darker than her light hazel eyes.

She was so caught up in making these observations, that she didn't realise she'd been staring at him for the past few minutes.

"You forgot to set the machine, Granger."

She startled. She had never heard him speak before, except that one time when he had screamed at those little boys for throwing their cricket ball into his house.

"Wha-?"

"The cold or hot wash, Granger. You haven't set your machine yet. Just been staring at me for the last five minutes. Now shut that mouth before some nasty fly gets into it."

"I most certainly have not!" she replied adamantly, setting her machine quickly and getting up in a huff. "Get off your high horse, Nott."

He laughed, a low sounding chuckle.

"Well. Aren't you feisty," he said, in a matter of fact manner.

She rolled her eyes, tapping her foot against the hideous tiled floor. This was when she contemplated her life; this was her alone time. But T. Nott had to come along and screw it all up.

Leaning against the long table running the entire length of the room, she shut her eyes, conjuring images of waterfalls and meadows in her mind. She was disturbed by the sound of spitting.

She opened her eyes in disgust, to find Nott bent over the table she was leaning on, a box of cherries placed on the cracked granite. As she watched him spit another seed into it, he looked up and pushed the plastic towards her.

"Want a cherry?"

"No, thank you," she huffed.

And then she turned her head to glare at the timer on the machine for another fifteen minutes, before it rang. She strode over to stuff her washed clothes into the overhead dryer.

She jumped in surprise at his presence behind her. He was too close. She turned to give him a piece of her mind, before she glanced at what he was holding.

Clutched in his hand, was her emerald green lace panty. She blushed to the roots of her hair and snatched them from his grip, turning back to stuff them in the dryer.

"Dropped them," was all he said, raising his arms in surrender and walking back to the table.

Then, none of them said another word. She put her dry clothes in her basket and then walked out of the laundromat, without a backwards glance.

And that was how their first meeting went.

II

She walked into the laundromat again, on her guard, because she'd figured that he'd probably developed the same habit she had. The one place she could be in peace, and now even that was hijacked by some arrogant boy.

But then she knew he wasn't really all that arrogant. He had offered her cherries. And picked up her underwear. Merlin. There he was, in the same posture as the previous day, only this time, he had a mug of steaming coffee in his hand, and a thick bundle of papers spread out before him.

He glanced up as she entered. She mentally groaned.

"Morning, Granger."

"Morning," she mumbled back. How the hell was he so cheerful and... well, awake, at six! Must be on something, she thought, and went about her regular business, crouching before the machine.

Suddenly, he was behind her again, dangling a red bra from his fingers. She widened her eyes, and snatched it from him, horrified at her blunder. She stuffed it with the rest of her clothes and got up, wanting to be as far from him as possible. He made her uncomfortable.

And he was laughing! She couldn't believe her luck. She glared at him from her spot at her side of the table. She had the crossword with her, and she would solve it to avoid unnecessary conversation with him.

He went back to his papers, making little scratches and changes here and there. She wondered what he was working on. She hid her face behind the newspaper when the timer on his machine rang and he looked up.

When his back was turned, she casually inched towards his spot, but was still unable to see what he'd been working on.

"It's my script," he called out, and she jumped. He was behind her again.

"You have got to stop doing that!" she whipped around, now efficiently trapped between him and the stupid granite table. He gave her a crooked smile before extending his right arm around her waist. She recoiled at once, but he didn't touch her, and instead reached for his papers, dragging them towards him.

He moved back then, tucking the bundle in the crook of his arm, his basket in the other.

"I write scripts for plays and t.v. commercials," he said, and was about to say something else, but as if on second thought, he shut his mouth and walked away instead, giving her a backwards glance as he stepped out.

She let out a deep breath, and pushed back her elbows on the table, only to knock down something.

Bloody hell, she sweared. It was his coffee mug, and it was still half filled with the dark liquid. She raised her eyebrows as the drink spread over the tabletop, and couldn't help but wonder if he'd left it there on purpose.

As the liquid trickled down the edges of the table, she picked up the mug and set it atop her still miraculously dry newspaper. It looked expensive. She wasn't going to leave it there for that twisted old lady on the 4th floor to rob.

And that was how their second meeting went.

III

She was determined to not drop any undergarments today. She'd be damned if she let him get the better of her again. She also had his mug with her.

She walked in to find him there again, in the same position she had found him yesterday. She slid his mug towards him and walked to her machine, only to find his clothes in it. She grumbled and put her clothes in another one.

"Thank you," he said when she came to wait at the table. "For the mug. I'd forgotten about it."

She simply nodded, but was quite flustered from inside, preparing herself to not drop any clothes of hers today. She didn't want him to know he affected her in any way.

"I do realise that I've been awfully rude. I'm Theodore Nott."

And then he held out his hand. For her to shake. She gave him a quick handshake. His skin was cool, not warm and somewhat clammy like hers. Her hand looked awfully pale against his beautiful tanned skin.

"I'm Hermione."

"Hello, Hermione. You already know what I do for a living. What about you?"

"I work at a bank. The one in Southampton Row."

He nodded his head, and gave her a friendly smile, before going back to his work. Well, at least now she knew he didn't bite.

"What are you working on?" she asked him.

"Just working on a friend's script for a play. It's called The Affair. You should come to see it, whenever it takes place. I'll give you a pass. You can get a date if you like." The last part he added as an afterthought.

"Yeah," she replied with a smile. "That'd be nice."

And everything was going very well. She had successfully put her clothes into the dryer without dropping anything embarrassing.

"I'm sorry I used the machine you generally use," he admitted, coming to stand next to her as she opened up the dryer's gate.

"That's fine. It doesn't have my name on it, does it now?" she answered, smiling at him.

She stuffed in her clothes into her basket, waved him goodbye, and turned to leave when she heard him clear his throat. She paused in mid-step, clamped her eyes shut, and slowly turned around to find what she had hoped to avoid all this time.

There he stood, with his hand outstretched. In his hand was her flimsy satin nightgown, which left little to the imagination. She bit her lip and took it from him, berating herself from her stupidity.

As she let herself out, she swore she heard him burst out laughing.

And that was how their third meeting went.

IV

She walked in at six, only to find the laundromat completely deserted of all other human life. He was late, she assumed, and therfore she hurriedly went on to complete all of her laundry before he had a chance to show up and pick up any other of her unmentionables.

She was done by 6:50, and basket in hand, she opened the door to the laundromat, only to collide with the man she had hoped she wouldn't run into. Her basket went flying from her hands. Hell, she herself went flying, and fell backwards, landing on her butt.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, inspecting her bruised elbow.

"I am so very sorry, Hermione, " Theodore apologised, bending down to get her back onto her feet. He gave her a hand and she got up, but not before muttering a "Thank you".

Her clothes were everywhere now, and if she had worried about him looking at her underwear, she now resigned herself to the fact that no matter what, he would always find some way to look at her clothes.

He bent to gather her clothes and put them all in her basket. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed and she looked away.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. No, I'm fine. It's fine."

And that was how their fourth meeting went.

V

He was there before her again. He gave her a cheerful "Good Morning" before getting back to setting the timer on his machine.

"How old are you?" he asked her, as she began stuffing her clothes in.

She snorted. "Haven't you ever heard of the saying - 'Never ask a woman her age'?"

"Oh, no. I definitely have. But you don't seem like most women."

"I won't even ask what you mean by that."

He laughed. "It's just that most women I meet want to suck up to me, thinking I'll land them a role in some movie or play. You hadn't even heard of me before I told you what I did."

"Oh, are you supposed to be famous?" she asked with a cockey grin.

"Very funny. Now, you still haven't answered my question."

"I'm 28. I have an MBA degree in finance. I've been working for that same bank since the past three years."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Excuse me?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "I missed the announcement stating that it was interrogate Hermione Granger Day. How old are you?"

"30."

"And do you have a girlfriend? "

"Do you?"

"I don't have a girlfriend. I'm not a lesbian."

"Fine. I don't have one. What about you?"

"Nope."

She was grinning, now, and he stuck out his tongue at her. She gave him a look as if to say - "How mature".

She walked out the laundromat without any embarrassment regarding her underwear.

And that is how their fifth meeting went.

VI

She was brushing her teeth, when her doorbell rang. It was ten p.m., and she wasn't expecting any visitors.

She looked through her peephole to find Theo Nott standing outside her door. She panicked at once, chanting a mantra in her head - "DO NOT PANIC. DO NOT PANIC".

She rushed to her bathroom and spat out the paste in her mouth, cleansing it with water. The bell rang again, and she shouted "Coming!" in a shaky voice. She opened up her hair which had been tied in a no-nonsense scrunchie, and fumbled for the lipgloss.

"No lipgloss, Hermione! He'll think you're a bloody weirdo, hanging about the house in pyjamas with lipgloss on!"

She ran out the bathroom, only to run back in again and hastily open the first two buttons of her blue pyjama top. Because today was the night she had to wear her bloody baggy pyjamas.

She glanced at her reflection and said , "You are confident, you are smart."

She rushed out again, and pulled open her door, plastering a somewhat sexy/girl-next-door smile on her face.

"I'm sorry it took that long," she breathed out, leaning against her door. "I was changing, you see."

"Yeah, I do," he replied, running his eyes over her body, pausing at her two undid buttons. "And I'm sorry to be bothering you, but I figured you'd want this back."

He held out her sheer midnight blue babydoll nightie, with his lips sealed together.

Her mouth dropped open, and after a second, she laughed nervously, tugging at a strand of her hair. "I keep losing my things at the laundromat, don't I? Silly me. Thanks for bringing it back, though."

She took it from him and was about to head back inside when -

"Hermione. If you don't mind my asking, what exactly is that called?"

"This?" she asked, holding up the blue fabric. "It's called a babydoll nightie. I wear it to sleep."

"You wear THAT to sleep?"

"Yes. Why?" She had crossed her arms now.

"No reason," he replied, fiddling with his shirt buttons.

"Goodnight, then."

"Hermione."

"Yes, Theodore."

"Would you happen to be free this Saturday night?"

"What for?"

"Um. The play I told you about."

"Oh! Do you have my pass?"

"No. I have mine, though."

"Theodore Nott," she said, a small smile creeping up her face. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On how often you wear stuff like that to bed."

She laughed at that. Then, walking up to him, she raised herself on her toes, so close that if he took a step forward, their lips would meet.

She brought her lips to his ear and whispered, "Oh, Theo. You, are in for a ride."

And that, was how their sixth meeting went.

~The End~

A/n - Do leave a review to tell me what you thought :)


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